CHAPTER LXXIII.

MARIE'S FORTUNE.

When Marie Melmotte assured Sir Felix Carbury that her father had

already endowed her with a large fortune which could not be taken

from her without her own consent, she spoke no more than the truth.

She knew of the matter almost as little as it was possible that she

should know. As far as reticence on the subject was compatible with

the object he had in view Melmotte had kept from her all knowledge

of the details of the arrangement. But it had been necessary when

the thing was done to explain, or to pretend to explain, much; and

Marie's memory and also her intelligence had been strong beyond her

father's anticipation. He was deriving a very considerable income

from a large sum of money which he had invested in foreign funds in

her name, and had got her to execute a power of attorney enabling

him to draw this income on her behalf. This he had done fearing

shipwreck in the course which he meant to run, and resolved that, let

circumstances go as they might, there should still be left enough

to him of the money which he had realised to enable him to live

in comfort and luxury, should he be doomed to live in obscurity,

or even in infamy. He had sworn to himself solemnly that under no

circumstances would he allow this money to go back into the vortex of

his speculations, and hitherto he had been true to his oath. Though

bankruptcy and apparent ruin might be imminent he would not bolster

up his credit by the use of this money even though it might appear

at the moment that the money would be sufficient for the purpose. If

such a day should come, then, with that certain income, he would make

himself happy, if possible, or at any rate luxurious, in whatever

city of the world might know least of his antecedents, and give him

the warmest welcome on behalf of his wealth. Such had been his scheme

of life. But he had failed to consider various circumstances. His

daughter might be untrue to him, or in the event of her marriage

might fail to release his property,--or it might be that the very

money should be required to dower his daughter. Or there might come

troubles on him so great that even the certainty of a future income

would not enable him to bear them. Now, at this present moment,

his mind was tortured by great anxiety. Were he to resume this

property it would more than enable him to pay all that was due to

the Longestaffes. It would do that and tide him for a time over some

other difficulties. Now in regard to the Longestaffes themselves, he

certainly had no desire to depart from the rule which he had made

for himself, on their behalf. Were it necessary that a crash should

come they would be as good creditors as any other. But then he was

painfully alive to the fact that something beyond simple indebtedness

was involved in that transaction. He had with his own hand traced

Dolly Longestaffe's signature on the letter which he had found in old

Mr. Longestaffe's drawer. He had found it in an envelope, addressed

by the elder Mr. Longestaffe to Messrs. Slow and Bideawhile, and

he had himself posted this letter in a pillar-box near to his own

house. In the execution of this manoeuvre, circumstances had greatly

befriended him. He had become the tenant of Mr. Longestaffe's

house, and at the same time had only been the joint tenant of Mr.

Longestaffe's study,--so that Mr. Longestaffe's papers were almost in

his very hands. To pick a lock was with him an accomplishment long

since learned. But his science in that line did not go so far as

to enable him to replace the bolt in its receptacle. He had picked

a lock, had found the letter prepared by Mr. Bideawhile with its

accompanying envelope, and had then already learned enough of the

domestic circumstances of the Longestaffe family to feel assured that

unless he could assist the expedition of this hitherto uncompleted

letter by his own skill, the letter would never reach its intended

destination. In all this fortune had in some degree befriended him.

The circumstances being as they were it was hardly possible that the

forgery should be discovered. Even though the young man were to swear

that the signature was not his, even though the old man were to swear

that he had left that drawer properly locked with the unsigned letter

in it, still there could be no evidence. People might think. People

might speak. People might feel sure. And then a crash would come. But

there would still be that ample fortune on which to retire and eat

and drink and make merry for the rest of his days.

Then there came annoying complications in his affairs. What had

been so easy in reference to that letter which Dolly Longestaffe

never would have signed, was less easy but still feasible in another

matter. Under the joint pressure of immediate need, growing ambition,

and increasing audacity it had been done. Then the rumours that

were spread abroad,--which to Melmotte were serious indeed,--they

named, at any rate in reference to Dolly Longestaffe, the very thing

that had been done. Now if that, or the like of that, were brought

actually home to him, if twelve jurymen could be got to say that he

had done that thing, of what use then would be all that money? When

that fear arose, then there arose also the question whether it might

not be well to use the money to save him from such ruin, if it might

be so used. No doubt all danger in that Longestaffe affair might

be bought off by payment of the price stipulated for the Pickering

property. Neither would Dolly Longestaffe nor Squercum, of whom Mr.

Melmotte had already heard, concern himself in this matter if the

money claimed were paid. But then the money would be as good as

wasted by such a payment, if, as he firmly believed, no sufficient

evidence could be produced to prove the thing which he had done.

But the complications were so many! Perhaps in his admiration for the

country of his adoption Mr. Melmotte had allowed himself to attach

higher privileges to the British aristocracy than do in truth belong

to them. He did in his heart believe that could he be known to all

the world as the father-in-law of the eldest son of the Marquis of

Auld Reekie he would become, not really free of the law, but almost

safe from its fangs in regard to such an affair as this. He thought

he could so use the family with which he would be connected as to

force from it that protection which he would need. And then again, if

he could tide over this bad time, how glorious would it be to have a

British Marquis for his son-in-law! Like many others he had failed

altogether to enquire when the pleasure to himself would come, or

what would be its nature. But he did believe that such a marriage

would add a charm to his life. Now he knew that Lord Nidderdale could

not be got to marry his daughter without the positive assurance of

absolute property, but he did think that the income which might thus

be transferred with Marie, though it fell short of that which had

been promised, might suffice for the time; and he had already given

proof to the Marquis's lawyer that his daughter was possessed of the

property in question.

And indeed, there was another complication which had arisen within

the last few days and which had startled Mr. Melmotte very much

indeed. On a certain morning he had sent for Marie to the study and

had told her that he should require her signature in reference to a

deed. She had asked him what deed. He had replied that it would be a

document regarding money and reminded her that she had signed such a

deed once before, telling her that it was all in the way of business.

It was not necessary that she should ask any more questions as she

would be wanted only to sign the paper. Then Marie astounded him, not

merely by showing him that she understood a great deal more of the

transaction than he had thought,--but also by a positive refusal to

sign anything at all. The reader may understand that there had been

many words between them. "I know, papa. It is that you may have the

money to do what you like with. You have been so unkind to me about

Sir Felix Carbury that I won't do it. If I ever marry the money will

belong to my husband!" His breath almost failed him as he listened

to these words. He did not know whether to approach her with threats,

with entreaties, or with blows. Before the interview was over he had

tried all three. He had told her that he could and would put her in

prison for conduct so fraudulent. He besought her not to ruin her

parent by such monstrous perversity. And at last he took her by both

arms and shook her violently. But Marie was quite firm. He might cut

her to pieces; but she would sign nothing. "I suppose you thought Sir

Felix would have had the entire sum," said the father with deriding

scorn.

"And he would;--if he had the spirit to take it," answered Marie.

This was another reason for sticking to the Nidderdale plan. He

would no doubt lose the immediate income, but in doing so he would

secure the Marquis. He was therefore induced, on weighing in his

nicest-balanced scales the advantages and disadvantages, to leave the

Longestaffes unpaid and to let Nidderdale have the money. Not that he

could make up his mind to such a course with any conviction that he

was doing the best for himself. The dangers on all sides were very

great! But at the present moment audacity recommended itself to him,

and this was the boldest stroke. Marie had now said that she would

accept Nidderdale,--or the sweep at the crossing.

On Monday morning,--it was on the preceding Thursday that he had made

his famous speech in Parliament,--one of the Bideawhiles had come

to him in the City. He had told Mr. Bideawhile that all the world

knew that just at the present moment money was very "tight" in the

City. "We are not asking for payment of a commercial debt," said Mr.

Bideawhile, "but for the price of a considerable property which you

have purchased." Mr. Melmotte had suggested that the characteristics

of the money were the same, let the sum in question have become due

how it might. Then he offered to make the payment in two bills at

three and six months' date, with proper interest allowed. But this

offer Mr. Bideawhile scouted with indignation, demanding that the

title-deeds might be restored to them.

"You have no right whatever to demand the title-deeds," said

Melmotte. "You can only claim the sum due, and I have already told

you how I propose to pay it."

Mr. Bideawhile was nearly beside himself with dismay. In the whole

course of his business, in all the records of the very respectable

firm to which he belonged, there had never been such a thing as this.

Of course Mr. Longestaffe had been the person to blame,--so at least

all the Bideawhiles declared among themselves. He had been so anxious

to have dealings with the man of money that he had insisted that the

title-deeds should be given up. But then the title-deeds had not been

his to surrender. The Pickering estate had been the joint property of

him and his son. The house had been already pulled down, and now the

purchaser offered bills in lieu of the purchase money! "Do you mean

to tell me, Mr. Melmotte, that you have not got the money to pay for

what you have bought, and that nevertheless the title-deeds have

already gone out of your hands?"

"I have property to ten times the value, twenty times the value,

thirty times the value," said Melmotte proudly; "but you must know

I should think by this time that a man engaged in large affairs

cannot always realise such a sum as eighty thousand pounds at a day's

notice." Mr. Bideawhile without using language that was absolutely

vituperative gave Mr. Melmotte to understand that he thought that

he and his client had been robbed, and that he should at once take

whatever severest steps the law put in his power. As Mr. Melmotte

shrugged his shoulders and made no further reply, Mr. Bideawhile

could only take his departure.

The attorney, although he was bound to be staunch to his own client,

and to his own house in opposition to Mr. Squercum, nevertheless was

becoming doubtful in his own mind as to the genuineness of the letter

which Dolly was so persistent in declaring that he had not signed.

Mr. Longestaffe himself, who was at any rate an honest man, had given

it as his opinion that Dolly had not signed the letter. His son had

certainly refused to sign it once, and as far as he knew could have

had no opportunity of signing it since. He was all but sure that he

had left the letter under lock and key in his own drawer in the room

which had latterly become Melmotte's study as well as his own. Then,

on entering the room in Melmotte's presence,--their friendship at the

time having already ceased,--he found that his drawer was open. This

same Mr. Bideawhile was with him at the time. "Do you mean to say

that I have opened your drawer?" said Mr. Melmotte. Mr. Longestaffe

had become very red in the face and had replied by saying that he

certainly made no such accusation, but as certainly he had not left

the drawer unlocked. He knew his own habits and was sure that he had

never left that drawer open in his life. "Then you must have changed

the habits of your life on this occasion," said Mr. Melmotte with

spirit. Mr. Longestaffe would trust himself to no other word within

the house, but, when they were out in the street together, he assured

the lawyer that certainly that drawer had been left locked, and that

to the best of his belief the letter unsigned had been left within

the drawer. Mr. Bideawhile could only remark that it was the most

unfortunate circumstance with which he had ever been concerned.

The marriage with Nidderdale would upon the whole be the best thing,

if it could only be accomplished. The reader must understand that

though Mr. Melmotte had allowed himself considerable poetical licence

in that statement as to property thirty times as great as the price

which he ought to have paid for Pickering, still there was property.

The man's speculations had been so great and so wide that he did not

really know what he owned, or what he owed. But he did know that at

the present moment he was driven very hard for large sums. His chief

trust for immediate money was in Cohenlupe, in whose hands had really

been the manipulation of the shares of the Mexican railway. He had

trusted much to Cohenlupe,--more than it had been customary with him

to trust to any man. Cohenlupe assured him that nothing could be done

with the railway shares at the present moment. They had fallen under

the panic almost to nothing. Now in the time of his trouble Melmotte

wanted money from the great railway, but just because he wanted money

the great railway was worth nothing. Cohenlupe told him that he must

tide over the evil hour,--or rather over an evil month. It was at

Cohenlupe's instigation that he had offered the two bills to Mr.

Bideawhile. "Offer 'em again," said Cohenlupe. "He must take the

bills sooner or later."

On the Monday afternoon Melmotte met Lord Nidderdale in the lobby

of the House. "Have you seen Marie lately?" he said. Nidderdale had

been assured that morning, by his father's lawyer, in his father's

presence, that if he married Miss Melmotte at present he would

undoubtedly become possessed of an income amounting to something over

£5,000 a year. He had intended to get more than that,--and was hardly

prepared to accept Marie at such a price; but then there probably

would be more. No doubt there was a difficulty about Pickering.

Melmotte certainly had been raising money. But this might probably be

an affair of a few weeks. Melmotte had declared that Pickering should

be made over to the young people at the marriage. His father had

recommended him to get the girl to name a day. The marriage could be

broken off at the last day if the property were not forthcoming.

"I'm going up to your house almost immediately," said Nidderdale.

"You'll find the women at tea to a certainty between five and six,"

said Melmotte.